


Folklore

by Maaarcel



Category: Cursed (TV 2020)
Genre: Character Study, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Father-Son Relationship, Hurt No Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Middle Ages, Redemption, Religious Conflict, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:16:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26306209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maaarcel/pseuds/Maaarcel
Summary: After the Weeping Monk and Squirrel left the Camp, he had a lot of time to reflect everything he thought he knew.Father Carden had taught him, how to hate himself and what he stands for. Taught him how to hunt and kill his own kind, preaching to him that he was cleansing their souls.Everything he knew was crumbling around him. Leaving him defensless and for the first time, free to make his own decisions.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	Folklore

He had never shared his horse with someone.

The big horse was his, and his alone.

He had raised her, gotten her as a small foal, abandoned by her mother. Father Carden had gifted her to him, believing she would die the next day,as she was just too small and surely someone as cursed as him could not raise an animal.

But she survived and grew into a majestic beast, taller and stronger than any other horse. So tall and strong, the other monks cowered at her sight, they were sure she was a sign of the devil. The only reason he got to keep her, was the only time he ever got on his knees and begged Father Carden, it cost him dearly but he never regretted it.  
He wasn't even sure if someone else had ever ridden Goliath, besides him.

Until now. Until...him. The Weeping Monk still remembered the last time he and the boy had "traveled" together. So everything about this situation should scream wrong, should make him want to turn around and beg for forgivness. But it didn't.  
He gripped the reins tighter, unconsciously keeping the boy, who was fast asleep, secure. He did the right thing, saving that boy. It couldn't be a sin. It just couldn't.  
They had been traveling for hours now, only daring to use side roads and forests. The boy fell asleep an hour after they left the camp, exhausted from everything he'd been through that day. While the Weeping Monk was exhausted as well, sleep was something he couldn't waste a thought about.  
His injuries and the pain kept him awake, he could feel every step in his bones. " You had worse" he reminded himself, "theres no need to stop and endanger the boy."

The sun had long set, since they entered the forest and long shadows were marking their way. Every now and then he could hear a faint rustling, an animal. He would know if it had been something or someone else.  
Still, he could feel the toll of his injuries, worsening every minute, the pain clouding his senses. Making it harder and harder to focus.

He hadn't had time to dress his wounds and he was paying for it now.

"Bleeding is growth, Bleeding is the cleansing of your soul" a voice, that sounded too much like Father Carden to be anyone else, echoed in his head. " The blood that leaves your body, the tainted filthy blood, makes room for redemption and God. If you want to escape his fire, you need to _bleed_ "

It was one of his first lessons after he was taken from his village; No, after he was saved by Father Carden, rescued from a fate, worse than hell itself. He had trouble believing it then, as he had now.  
But Father Carden had said he loved him. "No you idiot. You asked. Pleaded like a child." He had paused, after he asked, Father Carden had paused. The Weeping Monk knew what that meant. He had felt the aching emptiness of being unloved before, but in that moment it shattered him.

  
But even unloved, he owed Father Carden and the Red Paladins everything, his skills, his name, his life. Without them he would be nothing. But...his gifts were still his, right?

No matter how cursed and wretched. Its what made him useful in the first place. Maybe he would be useful to the Feys as well. That's what the Green Knight had said to him. That he could be their greatest asset. "That would presuppose that they dont kill me first."

While living with the Red Paladins, death had been a constant reminder of his heritage.

A raided village, screaming Fey's, the smell of burning flesh, or the threaths of Father Carden."If I burn, you will burn with me." He always said that calmly, never screamed. That's what frightened him the most. The unsettling calmness.

Death had become something he surrounded himself with, and it never scared him. No, his nightmare had always been the After. After Death. Knowing he would spend enternity burning in Gods Hellfire. No matter how many souls he cleansed, no matter how much blood he gave, he would always be an abomination.

As a Child he prayed every morning and every night, begging God to take away his sins, his tainted soul and make him human. Until one day Father Carden caught him. He summoned the boy to his rooms and as he kneeled in front of the iron cross, mounted on the wall, he placed a bible and a whip in front of him. " Do you know, why we do, what we do? Why we had to cleanse the souls of the village you lived in?" The boy nodded. " Then you know, that the fire is their only chance of redemption. The devil lives inside of them, just as he lives inside of you."

At that, the boy looked up, his blue eyes shining with fear. " But do not worry, child. Our Savior will not let you burn forever, as long as you follow his Will and do what he asks of you." Father Carden grabbed the whip and put it in the boys hands. " Now, To cleanse your blood, you have to give blood. In your bleeding you show God your willingness to right your sins, to abandon your filthy heritage. Take your shirt off boy, I will teach you. Never forget, I laid the first brick on your road towards redemption , but I cannot walk it. It is in your hands to fulfill Gods whishes, less you want to follow your Kin into hell. That is why you must do what I ask of you. God will not show himself to someone like you, but he will tell me your fate and show me what you must do."

With every torched village and every screaming Fey, he was reminded of his inescapable fate.

Father Carden had laid the seed of self-hate, and every speech about Gods Will and Gods plan helped it grow.

During his Childhood and training to become their greatest weapon, the Weeping Monk only spoke to Father Carden. Even at a young age it was expected of him to be neither seen nor heard. " If only one Person finds out what you are, you will burn before the sun sets. If I can hear you, so can anybody else, if I can see you and your ugly marks, so can anybody else."

It was only fitting that he was to wear a hood all day. It would protect him, and spare the other Monks his face.

More then once he tried to burn his marks away, but as soon as he stepped on the ground or touched something green, they would return. He never knew if it was just his imagination or if they truly grew back darker.

He did not dare to ask, so he kept the Hood on, even chose to sleep with it , terrified that someone might come inside his tent and see him.

As a Child he often wondered if things would have been different, had he been born human. Would Father Carden love him? Would God finally answer him? Would the other Monks talk to him, and not cower or hurry away as soon as they had seen him? Would the Red Paladins be his chosen family? He would never know. There was no one to ask and no one listened anyway.

Family

A feeling of longing, so sudden and so powerful, made him choke up. The family he had, he could not remember. The only father figure in his life was Father Carden and he refused to believe that, that was all he could get.

There must be something bigger out there, something better. And if not for him, then at least for the Boy.

In a rush of determination, he spurred Goliath, urging her to go faster.

He had to keep the Boy safe.


End file.
